Laying Low
by Official Rambler
Summary: What exactly were all those Death Eaters and Azkaban escapees doing, during the summer before OOtP? I mean, besides plotting and laying low to piss off Harry. Amaryllis Main, assistant librarian, reluctantly finds out.
1. Chapter 1

"_Ennervate_" someone pronounced, jabbing a wand into Amaryllis' ribs. She came awake with a snort and the beginnings of a vicious headache. The first thing she saw, sitting up with a jerk, was the pointy nose and irrefutably creepy gaze of Matthias Swallowtail, otherwise known as her boss.

"Homigawd," squeaked Amaryllis, slapping both hands down on her desk, as if by touching as much of the mess of paperwork as possible, she could find what she had last been working on.

"Appropriate sentiment, my dear," remarked Swallowtail in his gratingly nasal voice, adjusting his spectacles with one hand, letting his wand hand rest behind his back primly. "Although I doubt at this point that even God could ensure your continued employment."

"I am not fired," Amaryllis stated, glaring a little at the fussy, waistcoated man she had to defer to daily. "We're too understaffed at the moment to be letting go anybody." Swallowtail wilted slightly; Amaryllis smirked a little in triumph. She had made herself indispensable from the very first day on the job, and both of them knew it.

"Nonetheless, it is very unseemly to fall asleep on the job," sniffed Swallowtail. He paused, and Amaryllis stared at him to continue. "At any rate, my reason for –ahem—disturbing you, was to inform you that a new shipment has just arrived from Iceland, very valuable texts. You'll need to catalogue them before you leave tonight, and lock up."

"Oh," groaned Amaryllis. "Terrific. I don't suppose there'll be anybody here to help me?" she queried. Swallowtail smiled at her maliciously.

"Why, my dear Miss Main, you _are_ the help," he smirked, and oozed out the tiny office door. When she was sure he was gone, she let her head slip down onto the table with a thunk.

"If it wasn't illegal, I'd have already killed him," she said aloud to the room, voice slightly muffled.

After a few minutes, she raised her head again to shuffle through her deskwork. It was all an impossible mess, she had made sure of that by careful orchestration. If she were fired, it would be virtually impossible to sort out anything she had touched.

Amaryllis Main held a position of dubious prestige. She was the only subordinate in the only Wizarding library in Britain, outside of Hogwarts, of course. It was a silly sort of pride, almost, to be able to meet old school friends in a pub, and, after listening to all their gushing about Ministry appointments and offers overseas and setting up shop in Diagon, and then up with, 'Oh, I'm a librarian.' Most of them had Madame Pince very firmly rooted into their memories, and went a little crosseyed before they could reconcile the picture of Amaryllis the Wallflower and the batty, militant concept they had of the Hogwarts librarian.

Well, sod them, Amaryllis thought. She'd arranged to spend a couple of free periods in her sixth and seventh years in the library as an assistant, for credit. It had been quite fascinating, and very educational, and Madame Pince wasn't that bad of a lady, if you got past the fact that she was absolutely mental.

In her fifth year at school, of course, she'd had to consult with her head of house, in her case Professor Snape, to help her choose courses suited to her career path. Snape had done his best to keep a blank face when she'd sprung it on him that she wanted to be a librarian, but his lackluster retort indicated how thrown he'd been. Overall, she'd been one of his better-liked students, mainly because she made good, logical sense, which most of the school and indeed the Wizarding world at large didn't.

At any rate, it had come out that there was very little opportunity for employment in the field of Wizard Librarianship, as there was only one library outside of Hogwarts. Amaryllis was intent, however, and Snape himself had taken her down to Knockturn, where, unfortunately, the library was located. By absolutely confounding the directors—a student, who wants to be a librarian, who's passionate about it? Unheard of! --Amaryllis managed to secure a position there two full years ahead of when she would be ready to start working there.

Now that she was here, however, at the library, every single day, she had gone a little sideways in the head. No longer was it hard to understand why Madam Pince was daft.

Looking down, a stray sheet of parchment caught Amaryllis' attention. It was an official notice from the board of directors, informing her that Inventory would start in two weeks.

"Oh, gods, why?" she groaned, and allowed herself a minute more of self-pity before standing up and stumbling down the rickety staircase, to find the box of valuable Icelandic texts and catalogue them, so she could go home for the night.

* * *

Amaryllis Main was paranoid.

She hadn't always been, but had taken it up as a hobby last Christmastime, when the flat downstairs had been broken into, and cleaned out of anything of value. Although she owned nothing more valuable than her computer, she valued that dearly, and would be completely unable to pay for another if it were stolen. So she took precautions.

Of course, with Muggles living both above and below her floor in the apartment complex, she couldn't use any of the more efficient anti-burglar alarms favored by the wizarding community. True, the landlady was a witch, but Amaryllis doubted she wanted any of the Muggle lodgers to know that. So Amaryllis had learned non-magical tricks to keep her flat safe.

Stumbling up to her front door, five minutes till three, Amaryllis' first desire was to unlock the door and tumble through, possibly to fall asleep on the floor. Paranoia kept her back, and she bent over, peering at the gap between wall and door, just under the knob. There, every morning, she used saliva to paste a single strand of her own hair across the gap. If anyone entered or exited her flat during the day, the hair would fall, and she would know.

Peering closer, her breath caught in her throat. The single strand of ginger-brown hair lay on the floor under the doorknob. Someone had been in her flat—possibly were still there.

Not breathing now, Amaryllis leaned forward, peering through the large antique keyhole. The lights were not on in her flat, but someone had lit the fireplace, and dragged her chair forward to face it. Her eyes narrowed. Someone was sitting in the chair. Someone… bald.

"You are absolutely certain this flat is currently occupied," a voice, from the man in the chair, reached her ears, only barely dulled by the door. A shiver traveled down her spine. That was a voice marinated in power.

"So our spies maintain, my lord," someone replied from the shadows. With a jolt, Amaryllis recognized the voice. Professor Snape.

"I am growing impatient," the man in the chair growled low, drumming long, thin fingers on the arm of the chair.

A wave of fear washed over Amaryllis. She wasn't stupid. She read the paper, had read all about the Triwizard Tournament and death at Hogwarts this past June. She harbored her own quiet theories. Something moved in the wishy-washy firelight, and the slow, smooth bulk of a humongous snake dripped into view.

Her scalp prickled as her fears were visibly confirmed. The sensation died down, however, and was replaced by a surge of indignant anger. Where was her _cat_? If that snake had eaten Mercutio…

"She will come, and when she does, we will be ready," Snape drawled, easing into the very edge of the firelight.

_No, you won't_, thought Amaryllis grimly, and brought her wand up to bear through the keyhole.

"_Exstinguo,_" she whispered, and the fire went dark.

In the next split second, Amaryllis had Apparated into her flat, appearing behind the armchair. By the time Snape cast _Lumos_, she had the point of her wand dug into the side of the Dark Lord's bald head.

"Kindly don't move," Amaryllis requested of Snape, almost gently, as his startled face registered comprehension. The snake began to rear, preparing for a strike. Amaryllis shot a look at it, jabbing her wand tip even harder into the Dark Lord's temples. "You either, dust-eater."

All four figures were still, caught in a standoff. The Dark Lord was the first to speak.

"Snape… I thought you assured me that the witch who occupied this flat was of mediocre talent," he murmured. Snape's face took on a sour expression.

"That was my perception of her during her education at Hogwarts," replied the Potions Professor. Amaryllis found herself grinning, perversely.

"Then why, if she is so inept, are you hesitating to kill her where she stands?" the Dark Lord's voice had an edge to it now. Snape seemed unable to answer, so Amaryllis did.

"I'm a Slytherin, sir," she drawled. "I don't mind finding supposedly-dead Dark Lords and supposedly-reformed Death Eaters in my flat, but I do wish you'd call ahead."

"Amaryllis Main," Voldemort replied, his voice as sharp as a knife's edge. "Remove your wand from my head."

"So you can kill me? Right," snapped Amaryllis. "I'm not capable of a killing curse, but if you don't tell me where my cat is in the next few minutes, so help me I might just find other ways to turn your head into a canoe."

"The wretched beast is fine," spat Snape. "It ran out the door when we came in."

"Tsk, Severus, you shouldn't have told her," purred the Dark Lord. "I wanted to see what she would have done."

"Don't distract me," Amaryllis countered edgily. "Why are you even in my flat, anyway?"

"I intended to commandeer it for my own personal use," Voldemort drawled.

"Did you intend to ask my permission?" queried Amaryllis acidly. There was a snort from the Potions Professor. "Right. Off me, and then what? Explain to the landlady? She's a witch, you know, and more paranoid than I am."

"I intended to confund her, if you must know," mused the Dark Lord. "It's not that difficult of a task, for a reasonably accomplished wizard."

"Words, words, words," sang Amaryllis. "And what would you do to the neighbors? Confund them? Send the Library notice for me? You want to lay low here, I'm correct in assuming? A disappearance is not low-profile, not these days."

"All these things were considered, and you were still determined to be disposable," hummed Voldemort. There was a beat of silence. "So. You have nothing to bargain with. I guarantee you will not be able to kill me. How does it feel?"

"Look, if you'd just _asked_," sighed Amaryllis wearily, her demeanor changing to one of sheer tiredness, as the adrenaline left her and was usurped by the fact that it was three in the morning. "I'm just saying. You don't have to kill me for my flat. I've got a spare room."

"What? Just like that?" Snape sneered, a little incredulously. "No moral struggle, no bargaining, not even more questions?"

"I'm second-rate, Professor, not stupid," she growled. "Now. Mr. Dark Lord. If I were to remove my wand from your temple, would I be able to trust you, your snake, and your lackey to not pounce on me and hex me into oblivion?"

"You would be unwise to trust us," began Voldemort. "But you may, if you choose."

Amaryllis blinked, thinking. Fleetingly, she wondered if the dark side had a decent health care plan. Then, slowly, she eased up on her wand, removing it from the side of Voldemort's head, leaving an almost blue depression on his otherwise deathly white skin.

The Dark Lord swept to his feet, turning to face her in a swirl of black robes. Amaryllis' breath caught in her throat. He had to be nearly two feet taller than her, and those eyes, crimson against his skin as blood on the moon…

"_Crucio_," he said almost idly, directing his wand at her. Amaryllis made a small noise and crumpled up in a ball on the floor, but the pain was everywhere, there was no position she could contort herself into that would make it even lessen. It felt as though her brain had started eating itself, and the rest of her body was following suit. Finally, after what seemed like a year and a half, the eye-clawing, nerve-twisting pain ceased.

Amaryllis curled herself up even smaller, breathing shakily, eyes tightly shut. Something brushed her shoulder and she jumped. The Dark Lord's breath in her ear, cold as a tomb.

"Never threaten my life again," he said in a low, soft whisper. There was no 'or else' attached, but then, there didn't need to be. Amaryllis only cringed away, trying to make herself even smaller. She felt the creak of the floorboards as he straightened and walked back to the armchair. It would probably be unwise to fall asleep, here, like this, with the very continuance of her existence still in question, but she felt bleached-out, like desert bones. Exhaustion knocked her out without asking.

* * *

_Oh, right, disclaimer. Don't own it, never have, never will, won't pretend to, am not making any money. Will put them back when I'm done._

_Geh._

_First HP fanfic I've ever felt mildly amicable towards, so I'm posting it. I always have a terrible fear that I'm not characterizing canon characters right, so I'm doubly nervous about posting fanfic… not only will the reviewers roast me for getting it wrong, but the characters will dig up where I live… since I'm expecting it, feel free to flame, but a nice constructive crit would be… delicious. I'm good at original stories, but my fanfic is… well, it's fanfic._

_Oh, the story? Mmmh. It's a plotbunny that bit me in the ass somewhere in between reading no. 5 and waiting for no.6. Just what exactly were all those death eaters and Azkaban escapees doing, in between the end of no. 4 and the end of no. 5? Well, obviously lying low, exclusively to piss Harry etc off, and plotting. But where? Anyway, this was supposed to be funny, but it's not turning out so much, because it's incredibly difficult to keep the canon characters true to form and keep Amaryllis alive at the same time. I've never had so much trouble keeping a character alive past the first chapter, I swear. _


	2. Chapter 2

Amaryllis jerked upright, then went rigid as her joints and muscles all unanimously protested, and fell over sideways.

"Ow," she said blearily, shoving her glasses up to rub her eyes. "The floor isn't comfortable."

"Your couch isn't much better," drawled a voice from behind her, and Amaryllis jumped, whirling around. Her hip cracked and she whimpered, making note that sudden moves were a bad idea. Snape stood in her kitchen doorway, a mug of coffee in his hand.

"But I'm all out of coffee," mumbled Amaryllis, staring at the cup.

"There's a very simple solution to that," Snape said, non-committal. Amaryllis grimaced. Snape crossed the room to the couch, which showed no signs that it had been slept in, and sat down, frowning thoughtfully at Amaryllis. "I'm very surprised that he didn't kill you."

"Me too, a little," said Amaryllis, looking down at her hands. Her knuckles were bruised. She must have bitten them at some point last night. "Although the Cruciatus wasn't entirely unexpected." Snape snorted his agreement, and Amaryllis glared at him. "I suppose you think I _am_ stupid, for not simply running away last night."

"Most people would have," commented Snape, dark eyes hooded as he contemplated the rim of his coffee cup. "But you had your cat to think of."

Amaryllis giggled in spite of herself, and very slowly, moved to stand up. The room swam a little as she straightened, and she must have swayed, because when her vision cleared, Snape was standing beside her, holding her up by her elbow.

"So apparently I have coffee now," said Amaryllis, carefully removing herself from his grip. Snape nodded. Amaryllis glanced at the clock and winced. "I'm going to be late to work."

"He had me call you in sick," Snape said. Amaryllis jumped and looked at him incredulously.

"Had _you_ call me in sick? Oh, gods, they'll think we're screwing," she said bleakly. "Swallowtail will—will—" she couldn't continue the thought.

"I told them I was a Healer, that you were indeed very sick, and most likely would not be coming in for the next several days," Snape said, expression and voice carefully blank. Amaryllis had the decency to blush.

"Oh," was all she could manage. "Thanks. I'm—coffee," she finished lamely, and stumbled into the kitchen.

"Where is he?" she called out a few minutes later. No explanation was needed as to which he she meant.

"In your room," Snape replied evenly. There was a crash from the kitchen and a muttered _Reparo_ a moment later.

"In _my_ room?" Amaryllis echoed back. "Why my room? Doing what?"

"Yes, because it's bigger, and Merlin only knows," Snape returned, answering her questions in order. "Your spare bedroom hasn't got a bed, for one thing."

"You're the bloody Dark Side," mumbled Amaryllis from the other room. "Can't you get a bed?"

"It will be among the adjustments we will be making to your flat," Snape said, arching an eyebrow. Amaryllis was taking an awfully long time just to pour herself a cup of coffee.

"Oh, hell," she groaned, finally emerging, coffee in hand, leaning on the doorframe.

"You don't have a choice," Snape reminded her, not unkindly. Amaryllis' head snapped up to glare at him.

"Why did he have you call me in sick?" she asked, narrow-eyed and suspicious.

"You'll have to ask him that yourself," said Snape, with an almost imperceptible shrug.

"Right," said Amaryllis, and marched off towards the corridor that joined both bedrooms to the main room. She paused before her own bedroom door, raised her hand to knock, got irritated at the idea that she should need permission to enter her own room, and plunged in.

She had to blink, once inside, for the only light in her room came from the gaps in the blinds of her window. The Dark Lord was at her desk, sorting through her papers, snake curled up at his feet.

"Think very carefully, girl, about the next words that are to come out of your mouth," he murmured, not even bothering to turn around. Amaryllis snapped her jaw shut, and decided to take his advice. There were so very many things she would have liked to ask or say, but not all of them were well advised.

"Who else is going to be coming and going through here, besides you and Snape?" she asked, crossing her arms. "They can't Apparate in, the landlady and I set it up—"

"They can Apparate in, and they will," said Voldemort. "Your precautions have been dismantled."

"Why didn't you dismantle them last night?" quizzed Amaryllis.

"I did not wish to alert the landlady. Removing the spell from the inside causes no such alert to be given," he replied. "Which brings me to a question of my own. How did you know we were inside, last night?"

"Muggle security," said Amaryllis. "Things wizards never check for."

"Ah, yes, the strand of hair. I only noticed it after you came in, upon examining the front door again. Very simple, but very… canny," he mused, holding up a paper so that it caught a shaft of light. Amaryllis recognized her OWL grade report.

"Hey," she exclaimed, starting forward. The Dark Lord lowered the paper, and turned very slowly in the chair. Amaryllis halted in her tracks, stopped by the almost tangible effect of his crimson gaze.

"Snape was correct, you are in every way a mediocre witch. I see here that you received a perfectly average grade in everything, except for Ancient Runes and History. Very curious. How long has it been since you graduated?" he queried, arching a hairless brow ridge at her. The action was peculiar to see, and it gave Amaryllis goosebumps.

"Um. Around two years now," stumbled Amaryllis. "My last year was when a bunch of kids got basilisked."

"That makes you what, nineteen?" said Voldemort thoughtfully. "And an assistant librarian. You certainly are making something of your life, aren't you."

"There's no need to be snide," Amaryllis bristled.

"I only want you to understand that if you do anything to displease myself or my Death Eaters, there will be little to recommend you for survival," hummed the Dark Lord. Amaryllis stiffened, unconsciously straightening her posture in response to such a threat.

"Yes, yes, I _know_," she replied sourly. "I'm not stupid, I can manage a little basic reasoning. But in the meantime, how are we going to work this out? Is Snape going to be staying here long? Will there be more coming to stay? Do you intend to permanently commandeer my bedroom?"

"You're very curious, aren't you?" Voldemort chided gently. "It is an almost… indiscreet… trait." Amaryllis heaved a sigh and reached under the join of her glasses to rub the bridge of her nose.

"They're actually very practical questions," she said, half to herself. "This flat is two bedroom, two bath, and the only places to sleep are here, on the couch, or on the floor."

"We will be making some changes to your flat, my dear," he smirked. "Presently. Until then, I see nothing to stop you from continuing to use your own bedroom. I do not sleep."

"Yes, but you're_here_," Amaryllis protested, wringing her hands.

"That hasn't been stopping your cat," shrugged Voldemort, and turned back to sorting through Amaryllis' papers. Amaryllis, staring now, took a second look at the bed. There indeed was Mercutio, his sleek, fluffy black length oozing across her comforter. On cue, as though he sensed he was being paid attention to, the cat opened lazy yellow eyes and stared complacently up at Amaryllis, looking as smug and content as a statue of Buddha.

"Bloody traitor," she grumbled at him. "How'd he get in here? I thought you'd keep him locked out?" she asked of the Dark Lord.

"Mysterious, then, how he got in here, isn't it?" he replied blithely. For about three seconds Amaryllis was filled with the desire to rush up behind him and dash his head into the corner of her desk repeatedly. Usually she reserved that kind of violent fantasy for her boss. Uttering a small cry of despair and frustration, she rushed out of her room and stomped into her living room, before she did something that got her killed.

"Well?" queried Snape, startling her. She knew from the tone of his voice, even before she turned to face him, that his eyebrows were raised sarcastically.

"He's rifling through my papers. I'm either going to scream or fall over," she said quite calmly. Snape took a step towards her, in case she decided on the second option. "He says everything will be taken care of, and apparently I have an entire horde of Death Eaters to look forward to coming through my flat. Until then, you get the couch, I get my bed, and he gets to loom creepily all night while I develop insomnia. My cat likes him. Why, Professor, why?"

"I'll take that as a rhetorical question," the Potions Master replied smoothly, and glided over to the window, to stare out of it broodingly. "The Dark Lord was quite right. Everything will be taken care of shortly. In the meantime, I suggest you stay out of the way, and attempt to develop a little groveling subservience."

"Him first," growled Amaryllis, although it was childish and foolhardy. "You know what? Bugger all this. I'm going out."

"Out where?" Snape looked at her sharply.

"I don't know," she said bleakly. "Probably just around the corner, to buy a bar of chocolate and take a very long time eating it. But I'll be back, so don't sell my stuff."

"I shall attempt to prevent any such sale in your absence," Snape drawled, and Amaryllis knew he was mocking her again.

* * *

_Chapter 2 up, and I still have no notion how Amaryllis has managed to stay alive even this long. I suppose it's going to turn into a waiting game... XP _

_ Well, I think I'm doing well, what with the characterizations of canon characters, but concrit is always welcome. Snarky Snape, yay? Oh, and another note, if I actually do end up not simply giving up and killing Amaryllis, this is going to be Voldemort/OC. Don't throw anything at me! I'm a villain's girl, but a hardcoar villain's girl, so, you know... eyah. _

_ I want this to be a dark comedy. Let me know if I'm succeeding. _

* * *


End file.
